


Brontide

by orphan_account



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Do you suppose it’s poison?” Mercutio whispers, close and conspiratorial. Benvolio blinks and is ready to ask what he means when his friend is on his feet again, nearly stumbling as he oversteps himself in half-drunk enthusiasm. “Poison on her lips—Our friend is mad!”</em><br/>It's not a storm just yet.<br/>(New Budapesti Operettszínház cast as canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brontide

**Author's Note:**

> WELL. This is the culmination of a Tumblr quest for footage of the new Opi cast, and I'm not sure how happy I am about it. Personally, I intended this to be read as Dénes!Rómeó, Dávid!Mercutio and KMM!Benvolio, but imagine what you like. Specifically, I attached to fact that reviews seem to emphasize a lot- that KMM's Benvolio is pretty much madly in love with Rómeó. Frayed nerves and communication issues ensue. I don't think this is what any of you wanted.

“Do you suppose it’s poison?” Mercutio whispers, close and conspiratorial. Benvolio blinks and is ready to ask what he means when his friend is on his feet again, nearly stumbling as he oversteps himself in half-drunk enthusiasm. “Poison on her lips—Our friend is mad!” Arms flying wide, he turns and calls, “Trade your visor for a coxcomb; the Capulets will keep you as their fool. Maybe they’re you’ll find a place to put your bauble.”

Romeo lies apart from them, and some of the dim light thrown by the torches catches on his mask, which he holds at arm’s length in admiration. His smile is beautiful and directed at something far away. Benvolio saw him at the Capulet’s ball—he’d found a girl brighter than stars and hadn’t let his eyes leave her the entire night. That, that expression and the way his eyes seemed at once to soften and take on a brilliant fire, is at once too familiar and seeming to be born painfully anew tonight. “It must be a sweet poison, then,” he says.

“And then a very sweet madness,” says Mercutio, who has danced his way to Romeo’s side. “Pray, let me taste.” Swiftly pulling the mask out of the way, he plants a kiss on Romeo’s lips and skips backwards. The other boys cackle as Romeo pretends to gag and exaggeratedly wipes at his mouth.

“ _You’ve_ poisoned _me_ ,” he protests over the others’ laughter.

The edges of Mercutio’s wild smile can be seen in the darkness, and he throws his arms askance again. “I shall fly to heaven!” he yells too loudly, sending Benvolio into deeper shudders of laughter as he tries lamely to shush him. “Benvolio...”

At the sound of his name, his eyes widen as Mercutio leaps towards him, flailing his arms, in what he probably thinks looks like flight. The smaller boy springs into a crouch, one hand touching the ground for balance and the other playfully warding away the other youth.

“You want to fly, don’t you, Benvolio? And you look so beautiful tonight!”

“Beautiful? Not I.” Benvolio scrambles to his feet. “You’ll have to catch me first!” he calls over his shoulder, darting away. Still hazy from wine and darkness and the dizzy excitement of the night, he lets himself trip after barely two dozen steps. Mercutio seizes his wrist and catches him, long dry fingers pulling him in spider-like, but barely manages to land a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“A poor prize, my fair lady,” he laughs into Benvolio’s ear, and Benvolio can feel his cheeks redden (and for a moment he’s glad for the darkness before it occurs to him that Mercutio _must_ know he’s blushing anyway). This time, Mercutio kisses him squarely on the lips, tasting too much of wine and pressing too hard for teasing. Their mouths are closed, but there is bite behind it. Benvolio accepts it without a response at first, his eyes closing for a moment, feeling his brain is still moving too slowly. They’ve kissed before, and hardly stopped at that if the night is dark enough, but this feels like a cover on a darker mood. Mercutio’s sparkling drollery has a bite beneath it. Benvolio is half-hearted in pulling back, and Mercutio’s snort sounds ill-humored. “And here I thought you would be more yielding. Clearly, your affections do not sway towards me. I suppose we knew that already.”

That must be why Benvolio makes a show of pushing the other boy away and squinting off into the distance. “Romeo has left us,” he says.

Mercutio lounges against a wall, laboriously untying the ribbons of his mask. For all his nearly girlish prettiness, there’s something unpleasant in his countenance. The pale curve of his jawline is straightened by painful tightness. “Your mad cousin goes to his mistress,” he says. “What a sweet rest he shall have.”

He sounds as if he could go on, but Benvolio feels the cold very suddenly, and he needs to cut him off. “You reek of jealousy,” he snaps. It feels a bit cruel as soon as it leaves his lips, and he smiles almost apologetically. It isn’t a fight, but there’s a crackling energy in the air that almost hurts. He glances at Mercutio.

The other boy doesn’t seem to see the smile, but he doesn’t hear the cruelty either. Gesticulating with the mask, now freed, he proclaims, “I swear I have not touched the harlot. My only lady is her fair sister, envy.” He’s laughing again and looks squarely at Benvolio, quirking an eyebrow. “‘sprecious blood! What a pair we are!” He stops himself short, his reddened mouth forming a word before seeming to swallow it. “Enough of this. You are no Anna with whom I can leave my confidences, and I fear I shall still hear none of yours should you die by my side. Pray, make me laugh again.”

Benvolio’s mouth, he finds, is still pulled in a grin, automatic and tight. “I wonder when you—No, ask me tomorrow. I have nothing for you now. I don't think I can make even myself laugh.”

Mercutio, who must have moved closer at some point, touches Benvolio’s still-heated face. “You are bitter tonight,” he murmurs, tracing a line on his jawbone. It could have felt mocking, but the intimacy seems penitent in the same way Benvolio’s reflexive smiling is. “I promise you in the morning we shall both blame it on drink and the danger of the night. I price our lives at an ob, and Romeo may have dirt for his. Wait for a challenge. Something may yet come of his fevered dreaming.”

“Is the lady promised to another?”

There’s dangerous amusement and starlight in Mercutio’s eyes. “She could be. Obsession seems to dance about her, though in the little time I’ve known her I’ve seen her form no attachments of her own. Truly an uncommon lovely girl, if...”

They are still standing very close, and Benvolio feels as much as sees the other boy shift his weight, lost in thought. “If...” he prompts.

“I know not. Only that she has spent a goodly sum of her life as not aught but an oneiric possession.” He is gathering speed, his normal temperament restored. “By my troth, she is far more a dove than a peacock, and sure enough she has the blessing of Venus many times over. It is certainly a Vulcan who has limped after her for ” He laughs yet again, shaking his head. “I dearly hope your cousin’s madness will transmute him into some form of suitable lover.”

Benvolio steps back at last, realizing that he had been trying to decide until that moment whether he wanted to kiss Mercutio, and whether it would be a form of retaliation or apology. Instead, he folds his arms tightly over his narrow chest, trying to find some bit of warmth on his own. “And yet it doesn’t matter a bit, does it?” he asks. “We go to cold beds and he does not. Yet again.”

Mercutio takes his arm and pulls him along, looking up at the sky as if it has an answer for him. “So it is,” he agrees.”

“But,” Benvolio pushes, “In days it will be over for them, and he’ll find another pretty girl. Yet again.”

“Mm.”

“I suppose it’s a comfort that some things do not change.”

“Beautiful boy, nothing does.”


End file.
